When The Snow Falls
by SarentoKensei
Summary: When Muscovy is taken over by The Mongolian Empire, his life of luxury falls apart, as does his world.


Orange flames danced in the hearth, licking upwards and seeming hungry for more than just the wood that they were burning. They cast an almost angelic sort of light around Kiev as she sat in the fur-covered chair with her younger siblings perched upon her knees. "Novgorod, stop moving. Muscovy, listen to the story. It is very important that you learn of our history." She chided as she shook her fingers at the smaller kids. Like her, they were representatives of masses of land, but, since she was the capital of their shared empire, the power differences were multitudinous.

"Sissy, I've heard this story too many times." Muscovy complained, rolling his innocent purple eyes back into his head and shifting about on Kiev's knee. "I could probably tell it to Novgorod, not that she needs to know it either."

There was a pause, in which Kiev seemed to be contemplating the idea – it would teach Muscovy to keep his mouth shut during these lessons if she forced him to recite it – but she decided otherwise, sighing softly. "Muscovy, if you don't hush up, I'm going to give you a spanking." She threatened instead, which soon shut the little boy up, and then she restarted her tale:

"In 882 through 912, the empire of Kievan Rus' was created by Prince Oleg, who started out in Novgorod and slowly began to gain more territory under his roof. He eventually took Kiev as his capital, and-."

"Sissy, this is _boring_!" Muscovy groaned at the top of his voice, and his younger sister beside him snickered at his bought of being daring, for she herself rarely challenged Kiev. "I'm going to bed. History is stupid anyways." Hopping off Kiev's lap, the young boy began to saunter off in his fur pajamas.

Kiev's face turned a shade of red. She was beginning to get not only vexed but, in honesty, a bit embarrassed due to her younger brother. As small and innocent as he was, he did not fail to annoy her. She had gotten mad at him three times in the early morning already when he repeatedly pointed out her growing breasts to royalty, and then again in the afternoon when he had decided it would be fun to throw stones at the nice boy who tended their garden.

A squeal erupted from Novgorod's lips and she hopped from her sister's lap as well, though she quickly regained her composure and placed her tiny hands in front of her body in a lady-like fashion, then smiled only just the slightest. "You're so funny, brother." She sighed, following after him, nightgown billowing around her like petals in the wind during seasons when snow didn't cover the world like a wool blanket. "I love you."

"He's going to be a lot funnier in a moment." Kiev said, a moment to late, but it would suffice. She rose from her chair and marched over to Muscovy, hauling him by the arm. "Novgorod. You get to go to bed early. Now, run along." Waving her hand dismissively, she proceeded to hoist Muscovy into the air and look him straight in the face. All her previous emotions had been drained of her countenance, leaving her with a tranquil expression; somehow this was five times as deadly as one holding anger, and Muscovy's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

Satisfied at her brother's face, Kiev began her lecture, "Now, what have I told you about showing respect to your elders?" She brought her face closer to his when she asked, so her breath wisped over his skin. "You have been a bad boy throughout today over and over, and have shown absolutely no remorse at all... What happens to bad little boys who show remorse, _Ivan?"_

Muscovy looked like he was about to pee himself when his human name was used, and he began to quiver. "N-no! No spankings, sissy! I'm sorry! I'll be good and stop talking when you are!" Fat tears welled up in his eyes and began falling down his cheeks, staining them red, and his little hands turned into fists and shook in morbid terror. A spanking was probably the worst thing he had ever received in his life, and to be truthful he had only been spanked once, and it wasn't even by his sister, but by his swordplay trainer for sticking his tongue out instead of doing what he was told. "I'll even eat all my food before dessert!" He pleaded.

Pursing her lips in contemplation, and tapping her foot pensively, Kiev pretended to think about whether she should administer corporal punishment to her brother or not. After a while, she popped her finger upright and smiled, having come to a confusion.

Muscovy looked hopeful.

"I have decided to spare you a lashing," She began with an all-to-smug shake of her shoulders, causing her short and pretty blonde hair to bounce up and down cutely around the frame of her face. "however, instead, you are going with me to a political meetingtomorrow. If you don't want to learn of history, you must learn of the present."

The hope faded from her brother's face instantly. His jaw dropped and a rush of protests fell out of his gaping mouth. "N-no! That's the most boring thing in the world! Besides, I'll be around n-new people...scary, new people!" His previous naughtiness and daring was killed off. He started quivering just from the thought of being exposed to such a new thing.

In response, Kiev snorted and set him off her lap. "You have to learn how to deal with people at some time in your life, Muscovy." She patted his butt and stood, leading him towards his bedroom. "Otherwise you'll grow up to be a sociopath, or worse."

"Psh, yeah right." The young boy scoffed, hopping up into his soft, warm bed as he arrived at his room. "When I grow up, I'm going to be the kindest man ever. I'll protect all the weak little places and kiss their boo-boos when they're sad." That said, he pulled his fur blankets around himself and snuggled them in an almost loving way, resting his head on his duck-feather pillow.

Kiev couldn't help but smile at his innocence, and she bent over, kissing Muscovy's temple delicately and giving his hair an affectionate stroke. "I'm sure you will, honey." She whispered into his little, pink ear, and then she quietly tip-toed out of the room and shut the door behind her.

As promised, Muscovy set off with his sister the next day. He had to get up early in the morning – which was a major disappointment for himself – but after downing his breakfast and cladding himself in his noble-looking clothes, he set off. He made sure not to mention anything about Kiev's breasts throughout the morning as well; he didn't wish anymore punishment upon himself. It was enough to have to travel with her to one of her political meetings and have to sit through boring strangers arguing. At least, that's what he imagined the meeting would be like. He also imagined all the other representations of land-masses gathered there to be very old and withered.

To get to the set meeting place, Kiev and her entourage had to travel by boat. The stream they chose was wide, and although the water was icy cold – deadly so for that matter – it wasn't frozen solid, and the few places that did bear a sheet of ice were weak, and easily ripped apart.

Muscovy stared at the deep blue water, and crystallized ice bits that floated around them in transparent flakes, and was overcome with an expression of awe. He did not want to say it aloud, lest Kiev know he was having some fun during his punishment, but he was really enjoying surveying the landscape. As a matter of fact Muscovy had never ventured very far from his home. He went to the market, and every once in a while into the thin woods near his home when he needed hunting practice, but that was about it. Most of his days were spent inside, or in the garden, watching the steady progression and digression of the plants that struggled to live in the empire's frozen landscape.

A snicker was heard from the head of the boat where Kiev, clad in her most showy armor, was standing. "Hah. Not even impatient yet, little Muscovy?" She asked with a chuckle, flashing her perfect white teeth at him and winking. "I see you admiring the landscape there."

"N-nuh uh!" Muscovy shook his head vigorously and turned away from boat's head. He still did not meet eyes with Kiev, however, and stared into the trees. From there he saw a beautiful snow white bird take flight, it's wing beats so soft they could be mistaken for that of a moth's. A flush came into the young boy's cheeks when he realized how obviously engrossed he was in the world around him. "It's just...pretty." He snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. He figured the worst thing his sister could do would be to call him "girly", but she was not that type of person.

Instead Kiev gave her brother a kind pat on the head and turned away as if he had said nothing. A soft breeze chilled their skin and caused hair to rustle in the wind like delicate leaves, and a few of the fanciful human men on board gave Kiev longing looks that Muscovy could not explain with his child mind.

"Miss Kiev! I sight smoke in the distance. We should be getting close to the camp by now." Someone shouted out boldly.

There was a pause as Kiev mustered up her "power-voice" as Muscovy called it; this was the strong voice she used when commanding her troops, as well as when she was very demanding towards her younger siblings. "Alright, men!" She cried out, her voice ringing and echoing around every in a beautiful, harmonious way. "Be on the look out for any type of deception, and do _not_ drop your guard!"

She was answered by a chorus of: "Aye!", and then the small boats slunk up to the shimmering glass snow banks, broke them with ease, and were tethered there onto rods so that they would not drift off like wandering children whilst everyone was speaking.

Muscovy dashed onto the land with bubbles of excitement bouncing against each other in his insides. He felt as if he was going to burst from happiness. Suddenly, the visions of creepy, oppressive old men were one. The camp was alight with young life! There were servants cooking a meal over a great fire, and soldiers with skin a strange creamy tan that Muscovy had never seen. There were knights as well – shining in their silver armor and standing straight-faced and ready – and men who wore their hair long, and like a girls.

"Sister, look, look!"

Kiev wasn't paying attention. Her guards were slowly moving inwards towards the camp, analyzing it and judging how safe it was. After a couple of moments, they gradually eased their hands away from their weapons and nodded to her, standing around a peculiar tent, one that was completely red, and seemed to have golden flowered stitched into it beautifully.

Tracing the tips of her dainty but calloused fingers over the flap of said tent, Kiev glanced over to her younger brother with a smile on her face, kind and sweet like usual. "Well," she began merrily, "are you coming?"

"Ah...y-yes!" Muscovy bobbed his head up and down quickly and darted over to her, casting his eyes towards one of the silvery knights as he passed by him.

Chuckling, Kiev lifted the flap and allowed him to go in. "Stop checking out the knights, Ivan, geez." She mused, ducking and coming inside after he did. "They're Lithuanian, anyways."

Heat came to Muscovy's face, and he felt his skin boil with embarrassment. Suddenly, he was doubting if this was actually fun; he thought perhaps his mind had lied to him. Everyone in the tent looked fairly scary. There was a demonic-looking boy near his age, but stronger in build, with blazing blood red eyes and hair that matched the snow. To make it worse he was grinning at Muscovy as a dog would a piece of meat. There was also an incredibly perverse-looking man who wore a mask over his face, and had the sloppiest beard Muscovy had ever seen. He felt like the man's eyes were constantly crawling over him, since he could not see them, and fled into a corner, beside a pile of weapons – bows. This was beside the singular two people in the tent that didn't seem creepy, which was the Asian man with the long, black braid, and the pretty girl beside him.

"H...hello..." Muscovy mustered up a greeting at the short Asian, shaking in his boots from his shyness. "I-I'm Muscovy!" He chirped out, then bowed his head and looked up with his glowing lavender orbs, praying that the man wouldn't shoo him away.

On the contrary, the man seemed to take a great interest in Muscovy when approached by him, and a lewd smile passed over his face. "Hello. I'm Mongolia." He reached down, and without hesitation or shame, traced the shape of the small boy's face with his long, bowman fingers. "What a pretty thing you are." He crooned.

"T-thanks..." Muscovy shifted. He felt uncomfortable, and once again like he was being analyzed in inhuman ways. He wasn't sure how to react so he merely pulled away and darted over to the quiet, pretty lady who sat beside Mongolia. In the meantime, Kiev had taken the floor, and was delivering a long and boring lecture about political relations and borders, so Muscovy figured it would be kind to give the pretty lady a break anyhow.

Before he could speak a word, the woman spotted him with her keen blue eyes and grabbed him about the waist, scooping him up and setting him in her lap delicately. "What a cutie." She proceeded to give his forehead a little, quaint kiss. "Hello, little one, what's your name?" Her voice was like a harp being strung to a lonesome heart, and Muscovy experienced a moment of infatuation.

Turning a bright shade of poppy red, Muscovy told her, swaying practically in her lap. He stared at her beautiful brown locks that cascaded to her shoulders gracefully and curled around her cheeks. He wished he could tell her how pretty and motherly looking she was, but he felt it would be out of place and...awkward.

From nearby, the golden eyes of Mongolia were boring into Muscovy like violent daggers. He was staring down upon the child in such a hateful way that Muscovy thought he might hop up and attack him at any moment. Instead, he merely hissed, "Ignore me for the Grand Dutchy of _Lithuania_? He's the most girl-like boy I've ever seen!"

At that moment, Muscovy's dreams of marrying the "woman" who's lap he inhabited were incinerated, and for the rest of the meeting he sat in the corner near the weapon pile and spoke not a word.

At the moment in which the meeting ended, Muscovy not bothering to bear in mind that the lecture was going on, but became quite concerned when Kiev was pale, and trembling in place. Temptation rose over pointing out her now jiggling breasts, but decided against it and ran over to her.

"Sissy? Are you okay?" He said with a slight worried tone as she shook her head, and the creepy Mongolian man approached him from behind.

"Tiim." The sharp voice of the Asian man spoke and sneered. "She's perfectly fine. We just decided that you would be better off under the rule of well, me." He chuckled happily.

Ivan however, had no such desire to go home with him. All his toys and clothes were in his home, and he highly doubted he'd get to go home and get them.

"But sissy. I don't wanna leave. I wanna stay with you! I want to play with my toys and I didn't pack clothes! Sissy!" He shouted angrily as she turned away, as if she couldn't stand his cries, tearing away the threads of muscles that encompassed her heart until it hit the bottom of her gut. She left him with the man. Muscovy watched her leave upon her boat, watching her men file on, expecting her to run back and hug him and say she was just joking. But as the anchor was hoisted in, Muscovy saw that indeed, she was not to come back.

"S-SISSY! COME BACK! I'M SORRY FOR BEING A NAUGHTY BOY! DON'T LEAVE ME! OH GODS, DON'T LEAVE ME SISSY! Don't leave me alone…" Tears erupted like lava, rolling down like lost petals from a dying rose.

They stood there as Mongolia looked at Ivan's small body. Once the ship disappeared out of sight, Ivan sunk to his knees and started to cry.

Before he had much time for tears, Mongolia was wrenching him up to his feet by the back of his clothes. "What kind of weak little boy _are_ you?" He demanded to know, eyes flashing like chips of flint being struck together. His mouth bore no smile, but merely a straight, pale line, and his eyes were like yellow stones hidden beneath dark waters. "Crying is a thing for girls; if you were Mongolian, you would be beaten on the spot for daring to shed a tear." He picked up Muscovy, and proceeded to sling his small body over the back of a large, strange animal, then climbed on it himself and took a hold of reigns coming from it's head-area. "Besides, if you were a smart boy who paid attention during political discussions, you would have heard of what happened at Kalka River not too long ago."

Within him, Muscovy felt something stir. He did not exactly remember anything specific about Kalka...nothing that came to mind, but he had a faint idea that something terrible happened there. "W-What happened...a-at Kalka?" He sniffed, wiping the tears and globs of snot off of his face and onto his fur sleeves.

A sneer crossed the Asian man's lip when Muscovy asked him the question, and as he kicked his animal into a trot, he began to tell: "You see, I was just innocently minding my own business, so it's not technically my fault any of this happened. You see, I was ordered by my wonderful and impressive boss Genghis Khan to gather a bit more of land. We set out, and defeated the Caucasian tribes and the Cumans...but this _stupid_ Prince Mstislav, the "Bold", couldn't keep his nose in his own buisness, and decided to help a certain shameful, Cuman Khan."

Mongolia stopped to take a breath, and watch for a reaction, or a stir of revelation within Ivan. The child himself was frowning, trying desperately to remember such an incident. He remembered hearing murmurs around the palace he lived in about the Cumans, but never really payed attention, and dismissed them all for rumors. However, he never heard anyone discuss Prince Mstislav doing anything rash. Even Kiev, who was well updated on the events of the world, never mentioned anything to Muscovy about the man. "I...think you are lying." He decided, nodding his head confidentially.

"Wrong!" Mongolia laughed, and a chorus of snickers erupted from his small assembly of an army behind him, enveloping Muscovy with hot embarrassment. "As a matter of fact, two of your sister's principalities sent armies out to fight me. One was Kiev herself, and the other a smaller principality called Galich, one with no physical representation." He stopped his ridden beast much near to the same town that Muscovy lived in, and raised a hand as he spoke dramatically. "We crushed them at the Kalka River! Even when the pathetic armies surrendered, we _massacred_ them!" A loud, daunting laugh rang out from his lips then, sending chills up and down Muscovy's spine.

It suddenly occurred to Muscovy why he did not remember the event that the empire he rode with was talking about: his sister must have kept it from him. Her image, at times, was everything, and to keep him obedient she wouldn't have wanted him to learn that her forced had been defeated. This theory, although a little twisted on his sister's behalf, made sense. However, there was also the other less-disturbing thought in Muscovy's mind, that maybe she merely did not want him to know of the massacre of helpless men.

_Ba-dump._

Muscovy's heart began beating fast. He could feel his insides come to life as they lit up with adrenaline. His skin seemed to writhe with a thousand tiny winged insects, beckoning for him to join them in their mentality, begging him to fling himself at the nearest foreign thing and tear it's head of with the pincers of rage that evolved inside of his chest. "You...are foolish!" He screamed, and ripped the small dagger he carried in his belt out of it's holster. It was mostly for decoration – the metal t was made out of was etched with pretty scenery and flowers blooming – but he ignored this fact at the moment, plunging its blade into the shoulder of Mongolia and then thrusting his small body away from the beast the man rode upon.

A screech of pain snapped in the air like a crisp birch twig and Mongolia toppled off his ridden beast, getting trod upon by the thing accidentally. Muscovy, by then, was halfway down the hill towards the town, and he could practically feel the Mongols' breath upon his neck, even though he heard not a single hoof beat after his fleeting form. When he finally reached the bottom of the hill, and glanced upwards, the group was still where it had been.

Mongolia was standing now, stroking the long nozzle of the great black beast that he'd ridden on, and talking to his men. One of them was shouting and making sporadic gestures, jabbing his fingers at Muscovy, and Mongolia glared down at the small principality for a moment. After that, however, he calmly looked towards the man talking and said something, icy and cold in his demeanor. The men then all nodded in agreement, and departed, their ridden beasts kicking up snow behind them.

A tremor passed through Muscovy, from cold, he assured himself. Everything around him seemed so different now. Everything seemed to be changing.

"Hello, what are you doing all by yourself, little boy?" A woman asked from behind Muscovy, accompanied by a burly-looking man, and a small child quivering with shyness.

Muscovy made haste to face them and bow slightly, and then straightened up and used the strongest voice he could fathom, "I am Muscovy! Where is this place?" puffing out his chest like he saw men do to look more intimidating and stomping his feet a little.

The woman seemed to find this comical, somehow, and giggled in response. "Why, silly, this is Moscow." She said, and her little girl echoed her words from behind her dress, popping her head out and beaming; her eyes seemed flat and dull and her smile held no mirth.

Frowning, Muscovy stared at the girl. There was something odd about her. He was sure if he had listened to his lessons more he might have recalled a specific thing to label her as, but it just wasn't coming to his mind so he pushed away the thoughts. Instead, he focused on the adults, and gave them stern faces, "Gather an army. The Mongols are coming."

Instead of heeding to his warning with open and serious minds, the couple laughed, and were copied by there ditzy daughter, who twirled around in a circle as she let out her giggles. The man himself seemed to be laughing the hardest, and was quick to exclaim, "Don't be silly! As if a little boy like you would know anything of armies! Besides, Mongols have never touched this place, and they are not likely to do so all of a sudden. Even if you _were_ a principality of Kievan Rus', you're still a child and have no idea what you're talking about."

Muscovy's jaw dropped. He had absolutely no respect amongst the citizens of the empire he lived within, that was apparent. Although, since he had hardly left his palace with Kiev, it wasn't unexpected. He started to say something else, but was cut off by a quick wave of the woman's hand.

"I'll here no more of your silliness. If you'd like to spend the night at our house, that's fine, but no more talk of Mongols and armies. My little girl gets scared easy."

"Scared easy!" The girl echoed emotionless, her eyes trailing up and down Muscovy's body, as if she was searching for a relic somewhere upon him.

Muscovy exhaled with frustration, but then nodded his head. Kiev expected that he had been taken off by Mongolia – maybe she didn't even want him anymore and did it on purpose – and he had no one in the area who recognized him. He supposed it would take him a while to get home, and thus decided it would be wisest to simply stay with the family for the night. "Thanks...ma'am..." He murmured, hardly audible.

"Now, why don't you come inside and have some nice hot borscht..." She waved a ladle that she had been holding at him, then took her little girl by the hand and led her back into the house. Her husband followed shortly, as did Muscovy, who was very tempted towards the delectable, melt-in-your-mouth taste of the Russian dish at the moment.

"Just make yourself comfortable." The woman said as they entered, and she made her way into the kitchen and came back with a simmering pot which she proceeded to set upon the wooden table. The scent wafted to Muscovy's nostrils, and it was so strong he could taste the flavor. Nothing he had ever been fed in his palace at home had ever smelled so good.

As the father and daughter began to sit, Muscovy took a look around the place. Everything looked fresh, but in a natural way. The house looked as if it had been constructed from timber only yesterday and an earthy scent seeped from the walls. The fur rugs were wild and massive in size, obviously belonging to real, beastly animals, likely ones that had been killed by the family themselves. Even a tiny doll that sat on the twisted rocking chair was made of straw, unlike the many pretty fabric dolls with painted faces that Novgorod owned.

A smile spread across Muscovy's face at the sight of these things, along with a huge sense of pride for Kievan Rus' itself. He lived in such a magnificent place, where people worked hard to support those they loved, and concocted beautiful things out of the glories of nature. All the lovely, shiny things owner by the rich suddenly were nothing in comparison; these hard-earned structures were priceless.

"Are you going to sit down or not?"

Muscovy's head was jolted up and he met the eyes of the father of the house, sending a chill down his spine. They were the same color as Mongolia's – a piercing gold – and he was forced to timidly drop his gaze. "Y-yes." He replied shakily, and walked over to sit with the family as a big bowl of borscht was poured out in front of him, gray tendrils rising seductively above it.

The little girl beamed at him and clapped her hands. "Sit down! Or not? Sit down! Or not?" She chimed in a melodic, sing-song tone, nodding her head from side to side with glee.

"Ah, yes," Muscovy sighed at her softly, and, with hesitation, patted her head as one would to a small puppy. She seemed to like it, and the parents said nothing, but nonetheless he did not dare keep his hand upon her for too long. "I chose to sit!" He chimed. "Because I want to respect such a kind and amazing family!"

"Amazing, amazing, family!" She shrieked. The mother and father smiled faintly, only the very corners of their mouths twitching up just a little, and then, everyone began their meal.

After dinner, Muscovy was directed into the living room to sleep. A fox-fur blanket along with a shabby, straw-filled, handmade pillowcase was thrown down onto the rug for him to use, and the mother quietly patted his head and murmured goodnight before she left to sleep.

None of the family seemed the slightest suspicious of Muscovy, for which he was curious. He had heard stories from Kiev about travelers pretending to be in need, and seeking the pity of naive peasants, only to betray them in the night, killing them and stealing all their belongings. However, the fact that it would be difficult for a tiny boy to overpower two full-grown and blatantly able adults seemed a bit absurd, so Muscovy figured they didn't take him as a threat for that reason. After all, they didn't come off as stupid otherwise.

The light was already gone through the window near Muscovy's head, and he wasn't old enough to be allowed to stay up. Kiev got to stay up all the time and he didn't find it fair at all. Still, he supposed that it must be way passed his set bed time by now, even if he didn't have anyone to tell him it. He felt it in the way his eyelids drooped over his lavender eyes, tugging themselves downwards heavily, and in how his limbs felt like rocks.

Balling the fur blanket up beside him, he pretended that it was his baby sister and gave it a loving snuggle. "I wonder..." He whispered into the silent darkness. "Is big sister even loves me anymore..." The blanket, of course, gave no answer, and Muscovy was only left with tormenting thoughts, that chased him beyond realty whenever he finally slipped into a light and uneasy slumber.

His sleep was uncomfortable and dreamless, and he felt himself tossing and turning even as he lay abandoned in the black, vastness of his mind. His ears caught the noises of something, vague and distant, but he couldn't tell if it was the product of his troubled brain or something that was actually going on outside. He chose to ignore everything, and stayed motionless, that is, until the backs of his eyelids suddenly burst with bright orange light, sending him upright with a jolt.

Yelling was going on outside, and before he could check the window, the father of the house he was staying in rushed out with wild eyes. "What's going on?!" He demanded to know, grabbing a club from beside the door and slinging it over his shoulder readily. "Is there something outside?"

As quick as a rabbit, Muscovy jumped up and peeked through the window. "Ah..." His eyes swept the terrain, gathering a fire in the distant, but nothing extreme. "It's just a f-." He stopped, a strange feeling washing over his small body like an icy cold lap of river water. Within the night, shadowed figures were moving, riding strange, large beasts, and bearing long, menacing blades and torches. Much to his dismay, the figures bore long black hair, tied back neatly and tightly, and small, fast bodies.

The words slipped from his lips like sand through fingers: "Mongolia..."

Quiet for a moment, the father of the house quickly shook his head. "Impossible." He muttered, and made his way towards the window himself to check. What he saw was exactly as dreaded, and his pupils turned small with icy fear. "No..." He murmured, then turned quickly, hand clamped into Muscovy's fur clothing. "We have to get out of here before they burn the house." He emphasized, dragging the young principality along with ease.

"Y-yes!" Muscovy agreed, and shook away the man's hand. "I-I can fight too!" He began to feel for his belt, where he kept his decorative dagger, but then realized he had lost it when he plunged it into Mongolia's shoulder. "D-do you have anything similar to a dagger I can use?" His heart started beating hard inside his chest again as his fight or flight instincts began to bubble to the surface.

"Look in the kitchen." The father simply stated.

As Muscovy turned and darted towards said place, the mother and her child came out of their rooms and looked around in a panicked manner. "I heard someone screaming." Muscovy heard the mother say, in a strangely calm, but worried way.

"Someone...someone screaming..." The little girl murmured forlornly beside her mother.

Frantically, Muscovy began scouring the kitchen. He could not stand these innocent and kind people to be hurt, and felt hell bent on protecting them. He didn't see much – mostly cooking utensils – but then, handing beside an open window he discovered a menacing knife, one used to sear the flesh off of animals. He picked it up and felt it's weight, discovering that it was a bit heavy in his hand, but he decided it was the best weapon he could come across, and stuck with it, running back to the gathered family.

"We're going to sneak out the back of the house," the father was laying out a plan as Muscovy approached, his face stern and ready. "and then we'll flee into the forest. They don't know it nearly as well as us. We can spend the night there if need be, and then we'll check in the morning to see if it's safe. Alright?"

Heads were nodded, and the father whispered the words "Let's move out", but they were quickly succeeded by a scream splitting the air, coming, surprisingly, from the mother and she pointed a wavering finger in distress.

"Oh god! Oh god! They've set the back door on fire!" She screamed, and her daughter echoed her hysterical cries.

The husband seemed to grow stiff, a solid mass of immobile rock, and his facial expression froze. Muscovy did the only thing he could think of, he grabbed the little girl's sweaty palm and exclaimed. "We have to get out of here _now_!"

This seemed to bring the man out of his state of shock and he nodded, gripping his club ready. "Be prepared to run!" He hollered, and dashed towards the front door with the ferocity of a war hound. He threw it open viscous, exposing himself to the dance of flames that lit up his pale skin in beautiful shades of gold and red, and made his already blazing eyes simmer with even more passion.

Out of the shadows, figures began manifesting, swords and spears in their hands and wicked looks in their bright, cruel eyes. Muscovy tugged on the hand of the little girl he was holding, and pulled her to the side, out of sight, hunching behind a barrel where the firelight could not reach them. He watched the father, waiting for him to give the signal for them to sprint away, or the mother, even.

Instead, the man foolishly swung his club. He struck one of the Mongols in the side of his side, smashing his skull open and sending an array of crimson and pink colors upon his comrades, but the others remained unphased by the blood. They dove in, hawks stretching their claws for their next kill, and attacked the man. He dodged one of them, but another one's spear sliced through the flesh of his side, leaving him with a crescent, gushing wound.

Behind him, his wife screamed. "Where is my daughter?!" She wailed, twisting her head around in horror. She ran out, towards the forest before Muscovy could cry out to her – they were right beside her, only hiding! - and someone threw a dagger. It sank it's blade into her back and the mother fell to the ground, sputtering and frothing blood as a leering Mongol came up behind her and raised his sword once more.

"Don't look!" Muscovy screamed unintentionally, slapping his hand over the little girl's eyes. She began to cry, shocked, but it was drowned out by another pained scream; one of the Mongol soldiers had stabbed a twisted sickle into the father's stomach, and was twisting it around as a menacing laugh came from his throat. The house behind him was now up completely in flames, and the soldier, once he seemed to grow bored, ripped his weapon out of the man's belly and kicked his still-living body into the flames.

There was no more cover for the little girl's crying noises, so Muscovy was forced to flee with her. He saw torchlight coming from the depths of the forest, and realized that was not an option, so he wrenched the child by the arm and began fleeing with her into the expanse of Moscow. The faster he made her run, the louder and harder she cried behind him, but he was determined to get to safety. He thought, maybe, if he could just find someplace to hide where no one would think to look, they would be safe.

He kept his eyes peeled for an abandoned building, that had already been burnt. If there was one, he figured, the Mongols must be less likely to look in it _again. _However, he saw none in sight, and his flesh began to squirm underneath the perspiration that soaked his tiny body. He was no bigger than the child he was trying to protect...how did he expect to be able to do anything?

"Look! There's two more over there!" Someone hollered, and Muscovy looked up to see a group of Mongolian soldiers. They appeared to be collecting children, and had a whole line of them chained together like animals waiting to be led off to the market for sale. Both girls and boys, but all sniveling and crying. Some wore no clothing, and others were beaten so badly that their faces were no longer intelligible.

"Two more! Two more!" The little girl squawked in terror. Tears were streaming from her glassy eyes and she looked as if she were already dead, except she was dead on the inside.

As the man rocketed towards them, Muscovy withdrew his knife. He said not a word but swung his arm, and the girl behind him, and when the Mongolian flung himself upon the pair he soon discovered a sharp object buried deep inside his chest. A gagging noise escaped the man's throat, and then he slipped to the ground, dying. Muscovy wielded the bloody knife in his hand, stock-still with shock. He had _killed_ someone!

In his moment of distance, his whole being caught up in his mind, the little girl broke away from him and ran, crying. She didn't trust him. She ran straight to the remaining Mongolian soldiers who held the captive children and threw her tiny arms around one of their legs. They found this hilarious, and instead of simply chaining her began to kick her around like some sort of sport-oriented toy.

"N-No! Stop!" Muscovy screamed, unsure of what to do. If he ran forwards, he'd surely be captured too, but if he fled, what would become of the girl? His questions were answered soon enough when one of the men drew his sword and held it above her head, spatting forth some sort of Mongolian garbage as he prepared to slaughter her.

Muttering, the girl dumbly imitated him. At the same time, Muscovy was running towards her, yelling. "STOP! STOP! STOP! DON'T HURT HER!" His lavender eyes were as wide as saucers and his legs felt strained and strangely heavily, as if he were running inside of a dream. He flung his knife and missed, being quite inexperienced with throwing weapons, and having weak, chubby baby arms anyways. The weapon clattered to the ground, but it was enough to stop the Mongol, who glanced towards him.

At that moment, strong arms swept up Muscovy from behind and lifted him into the air as he kicked and cried childishly. His assailant swatter him harshly on the behind, in response, with something thin and wooden. "Silence, _boy_!" A familiar voice warned, and the fearful and sniveling Muscovy went limp with dull defeat. He had been captured by Mongolia.

"Please..." Cocking his head over his shoulder, Muscovy caught a glimpse of the empire's straight, stern face, and sharp eyes. "Please...let the girl go..." Shakily he clasped his hands together in a pleading stance,then case his eyes downwards pathetically.

In response, Mongolia merely laughed. "Stupid boy." He hissed. "There is no hope for you as there is no hope for her. You are both nothing anymore, you are slaves – she to my people and you to me." He took a long hemp rope from a satchel at his side and bound the tiny principalities wrists together, and then his feet, before slinging him over his shoulder and walking through the carnage. Muscovy closed his eyes as he heard the little girl behind him sobbing, as he heard all the tiny children sobbing, begging... He did not want to see what was becoming of them.

"You should have never ran away." Mongolia hissed into his ear. "All you do here is cause your people pain and suffering. You're too weak even to protect a child."

It was true. He was weak, and Muscovy forced himself to accept the fact as he witnessed the carnage around him. He bore no more strength than a mere mortal... "One day I'll be strong..." He found himself whispering. "As strong as my big sister, Kiev..."

"You'll _never_ be strong." Mongolia contradicted him, "You'll only ever be a slave." and that said he carried him off into the enveloping night, and towards where an entourage of the strange ridden-beasts waited. He tied Muscovy's quivering body to the saddle, and rode away from the blazing flames of Moscow, letting them fade into the distance behind them as in front of them, a Mongolian camp appeared.


End file.
